


The Heart Speaks

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The dwarves are returning to the Mountain at last. Among them is one who has yet to find her place among her people, but is there truly a place in Erebor for her?





	The Heart Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As this is my first fic featuring a deaf character, I would like to make it clear that I have no intent of offending anyone. Forgive me if I have made any mistakes or have mis-worded at times. I wrote this as a request but also because I wanted to create an inclusionary fic. Feel free to share your feedback with me as I am open to improvement and to learning. Thank you all.

A single chest. Your whole life had fit in that one box. You had lived much of your life with less but it felt terribly pathetic when you stopped and thought about it. For all the years you had behind you, it seemed a rather meagre showing.

You sat atop your luggage, rocking as the wind filled your hood. The autumn gales were bitter. A purse of silver had bought you passage home though you would have paid twice, even ten times as much for the privilege.  You had joined the cavalcade by chance, fortune setting you on the road at the right time.

You looked up at the looming mountain, a grim giant against the pale afternoon sky. You had departed at just the right time. You could tell the snow would soon fall in Erebor. As the wagon jolted, you grunted and hung onto the rail.

The driver called out, you saw his lips move but you could not hear him. As you could not hear the whistling winds or the creaky wheels below. It felt all the more chilly in your world of silence. And lonely.

You braced yourself as the road turned rockier, steeper. The mules climbed carefully, setting their hooves firmly in the dirt. You turned to watch the train of wagons following behind you. Those who had fled to Ered Luin were at last returning. 

There were several dwarves at the top of the hill, helping those who had preceded your cart. The bustle was muted in your head but the lips of travellers and residents alike never ceased. As your wagon approached the head of the line, you were helped down by a dwarf with wild red hair and you grabbed your chest before he could do it for you. You were able, even if you couldn’t hear.

You bowed your head at the greetings passed your way; the movement of eyes and lips alerting you to their words. You dragged your luggage behind you, a bundle offered as you reached the door of the mountain. You nodded graciously as you accepted the present from the dark-haired woman, her blue eyes smiling along with her mouth.

These were your people but they felt as strangers. Though blood bound you to them, the dearth of sound was isolating. You could understand them, read their lips and even sign, but many had not the patience to speak with you. You had grown use it. Communication for you was often lopsided.

A white-haired dwarf greeted you at the end of the first corridor, he held a map and spoke before you could sight his lips. You watched them intently, nodding as he pointed to a chamber on the parchment and you traced the path from where you were to the destination.

“Can you find your way?” He spoke slower this time as you kept your eyes on his lips.

“Yes,” You managed to eek out; your voice disused. You reached up to touch your ear and shook your head, signalling your lack of hearing. He smiled and touched your elbow, but not with the usual pity. He was of the few who had ever looked at you with respect after realizing your impediment.

You hid the curve of your lips as you continued down the next hallway, reciting the directions in your head so that you did not forget. To the east and then a right and left, another right and another, keep going till the next corner. You were so intent on finding the correct chamber that you had lost track of your surroundings.

Many had turned before you did and you were left to wander alone. Shadows flickered in the light of lanterns. The corridors were airy and smelled of pine. You reached out to touch the wall, feel the reverberation of distant voices. You had learned to find comfort in silence but at times, it was entirely desolate.

You lowered your arm, taking the first right on the list. The twists and turns were almost confusing, the Mountain a labyrinth. You were content, however, that you had memorized the directions. You turned left, away from another set of corridors and the next right was so close you nearly missed it.

You felt the air shift and something touched you shoulder. You would have screamed if your voice came naturally and you turned, dropping your bundle and striking out. Your fist met with another and you watched as the figure staggered, holding his jaw. You covered your mouth with your hand, trembling as the broad-shouldered dwarf uncovered his bloody lip.

‘Sorry,’ You signed without thought, the dwarf staring back in confusion. ‘Are you okay?”

He shook his head and held out a handkerchief with blueberries embroidered along its edges. It had been your mother’s, sewn by her mother before her. You reached out and took it sheepishly, nodding your thanks.

“A thank you would be customary,” The dwarf scowled, his blue eyes piercing.

You lowered your head, tucking away the handkerchief in your pocket. You found the courage to look up, once more signalling to your ears. He raised a brow, seemingly even more confused. You sighed, your shoulders rising and falling. You pulled on your ear and shook your head.

“You…can’t hear?” You read his lips as he spoke.

You nodded and realization washed the tension from his face. You gestured to his jaw and signed sorry again, hoping he could figure it out.

“It’s okay,” He replied and knelt, picking up your bundle and placing it back in your arms. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

He kept his words deliberate, conscious of your intent gaze at his mouth. You were thankful for it but he needn’t talk so slow.

‘Thank you,’ You signed and made to grab your chest.

“Wait…” He blinked as he paused tentatively, “Your name?”

You pursed your lips and he seemed to kick himself. He began to feel around in his pockets and pulled forth a small leather notebook. He unwound the hide tie which held it closed, revealing charts of musical notes. The sight making you wince. He took a pencil of charcoal from within it and held it out to you.

Hesitantly, you reached out and took the pencil, slowly writing your name on the blank page he offered. He turned it and read, reciting it aloud, at least you guessed he had spoken by the movement of his lips.

“Thorin,” He pointed to himself and your blood ran cold. You had punched the King of Erebor and you had only just arrived.  _Would you be expelled so soon?_ Your arms were too full to sign ‘crown’ at him but he appeared to recognize the fear in your face. 

He smiled and shook his hand, raising his palms appeasingly. “It’s fine. Really.”

You nodded, turning to grab your chest handle. You peered back and bowed your head in farewell but he looked disappointed. You scurried forward before you could abuse him any further and took another right, once more repeating the directions in your mind.

* * *

For what was left of your silver, you had bartered a loom off a dam who had been fortunate enough to have one in the chamber assigned her. She had not been want to use it but was unwilling to part with it for free. The negotiation had been awkward and stymied and you had ended up shoving a dozen coins into her hand and seizing it yourself.

It wasn’t even worth that much. You had to repair it yourself and that had taken a full two days. You began your operation small but managed to sell enough to buy a few bolts of finer fabric. Within the month, you were sewing dresses for several dams. You had much preferred tailoring to weaving but both were lucrative.

As more goods began to arrive from Dale and Mirkwood, you were able to diversify. Still, you hadn’t rebuilt all you had left behind. You had grown used to restarting but this would be the last time.

The shade raised over the lamp, revealing the flickering flame. You had fashioned the contraption yourself. Unable to hear visitors knocking, you had run a length of string from the lamp through the door and hung a sign warning customers to pull it. The light was enough to draw your attention, the shade rising and falling on the length of twine.

You set down the pair of slippers you were working on to answer. You were surprised to reveal a familiar face, though it wasn’t entirely welcome. The king awaited your response, standing patiently in the hallway. You raised your hands, signalling peace, and he chuckled.

You bowed and he shook his head, signalling you to stand upright. He waved his hello and pointed within, asking for entrance. You stepped back and swept your arm towards the chamber, watching as he stepped inside. You closed the door and looked back to him, wringing your hands anxiously.

You returned to your table to fetch the parchment you used with clients, pointing to the first question. “What can I help you with?”

He read it and pressed his lips together, thinking. He held up a finger, begging for a moment as he considered his response. “Well, several things.”

He glanced around your chamber, walking beside the row of various garments hanging along your wall. He turned back and neared the table, pointing to the chair as you nodded your assent. He sat as you stood across from him and he looked you in the face. “First, I should like a new outfit for my coronation; overcoat, tunic, trousers, the like.”

You bobbed your head up in down attentively.

“Second,” He let his hand rest on the table, tapping his fingers upon it, “I want you to teach me how to speak with you.”

You raised the paper again, circling the word ‘what’ with your fingers. He grinned and shook his hair behind his head.

“I don’t want this paper and pencil nonsense,” He replied, “I want to be able to talk to  _you_.”

You stared at him blandly. You had no pre-written response for that. The only dwarrow you had ever known to speak in signs beside yourself was your mother. You hadn’t seen the king since your first meeting. You wouldn’t have thought him eager for a second after your assault, let alone an ongoing acquaintance.

“I’ve seen you around, scribbling on your paper,” He frowned, “You shouldn’t have to accommodate others without recompense.”

You approached the table, laying the parchment across it and writing in the blank space along the bottom; ‘you don’t have to.’

“I want to,” He waited for you to look at him before he spoke, “Now, can we begin now or shall we make an appointment?”

‘Aren’t you busy?’ You wrote.

“My throne can wait,” He assured, “I’d like to know how to say thank you before I leave. In the very least.”

* * *

The king had been visiting every other night for lessons and his fittings. It had been two months since his first and he was coming along very well. In return, he was teaching you khuzdul and his presence had grown more comforting than intimidating. This night, you watched as he read from a list and signed the words to you. He was indeed a smart dwarf.

‘Well done,’ You signed and saw the light of recognition behind his eyes.

‘Thank you,’ He replied with his hands, ‘I have a…good teacher. No, great.’

You smiled and shook your head modestly. From all you had read on other people’s lips, you hadn’t figured the king to be such a patient dwarf. In fact, you had seen his own nephews talking of their frustrations with him. Yet, you felt it wasn’t due to sympathy as he had not the patronizing attitude as most. There appeared to be genuine interest in him.

‘The clothes,’ He gestured to your pending work; his vocabulary was still quite basic, ‘Which one is yours?’

‘Mine?’

‘You have a dress for the…corn?’ He asked.

‘Coronation,’ You corrected, ‘No. I am not going.’

‘No?’ He frowned, ‘Why not?’

‘I cannot hear the music nor speak to any guest,’ You admitted meekly, ‘I fear there isn’t much fun to be had.’

‘You can speak with me,’ He signed, ‘And there will be much food.’

‘I am used to it,’ You signed, ‘I don’t mind staying in.’

“Won’t you come?” This time he did not sign, “For me?”

You sighed and looked at him grimly. He was the king. He didn’t have to buy his royal clothing from you or spend his evening in your company. It was little to ask in return.

You nodded and signalled your surrender. His smile almost eased your fears.  _Almost._ Crowds could be overwhelming, even if you couldn’t hear the ruckus.

* * *

It was easy to get lost in a crowd when you didn’t make a sound. You let yourself be carried with the tide of people to the feast hall. For most of the crowning ceremony you had sat in silence, unable to hear the vows. Craning to see over the heads around you, you at least saw the coronet placed on Thorin’s head.

The thought of food made your stomach gurgle but that could have as easily been your nerves. You found a seat among the rabble between a dam you had sewn several garters for and a dwarf who was somehow already intoxicated. Those who had come to you for their evening attire didn’t appear to see you though they had had enough time for you when they needed your services.

You filled your plate with vegetables, forgoing the venison for the sake of your stomach. You would get horrible indigestion from spiced meats and it was much too gamey for your taste. You chewed on a stock of broccoli as you glanced along the royal dais, the king gaily laughing among his kin and peers. You had never had many of either and they were all gone now.

Dessert was better. You had always favoured a sweeter palate. You ate the trifle with delight, savouring the juicy berries in the dead of winter. You wondered how the kingdom had afforded such a rarity. Well, you were certain the royal coffers were much deeper than that of a seamstress.

The table began to clear out and it wasn’t until you spotted the lute player that you realized the music had started. You had felt the vibrations but the hall of voices bouncing off the rafters had masked it. You hid your sadness behind your hand, keeping your mouth concealed as you looked longingly at the band.

You wondered what it would be like to hear a melody. To lose yourself in a jaunty tune or sorrowful dirge. It made you utterly depressed.

You sniffed and stood, forgetting what was left of your dessert. You tiptoed around the chairs, your skirts whisking against the table. You shouldn’t have come. Even if the king had asked you, it had been a mistake.

You nearly ran down the halls, skidding to a halt outside your chamber to catch your breath. You were immediately embarrassed at your flight. You should’ve sat and bore the silence. You were certain everyone must have noticed the mute running back to her hole.

You closed your eyes as you leaned against the wall. You shook your head at yourself and tried to stem the doubts flurrying inside. The ones telling you how foolish you were. For even thinking of attending the coronation. For leaving so abruptly. There was no right decision.

You opened your eyes as you sensed a change in the air. A pair of polished boots shone before you and slowly you raised your head. Thorin was watching you as you emerged from your catatonia and you touched your cheeks in dismay.  _How long had he been there?_

‘You should be at your coronation,’ You chided with frantic fingers.

‘I’m where I need to be,’ He signed back, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ You rolled your eyes.

He raised his eyebrows, his gaze impenetrable.

‘I can’t hear the music…I can’t dance.’ You replied, ‘Not my kind of fun.’

He tilted his head, reaching out to touch your silken sleeve. He admired the seam with his thumb and smiled. His finger laced between yours and his other hand rested on your waist. He pulled you away from the wall. “You can dance,” He mouthed.

He began to lead you, circling and swaying around the corridor. You swallowed shyly, looking down as you stepped on his toes. You could feel his laughter rumbling his chest and you glanced up at him. You smiled, despite the racing of your heart and his blue eyes were a calm river in the dark.

“You should go back,” You enunciated in stunted speech, you throat contracting uncomfortably.

“I have my crown,” He said, “And a gifted dance partner. That’s all I need.”

His hand slid across your waist, his arm hugging you closer. You timidly let your head rest against Thorin’s chest. His warmth formed a shield around you. You could feel the beating of his heart against your cheek.

For the first time, you could hear music; the king’s heart playing a love song along with yours.


End file.
